“Hey, I don’t mean to bother you but, uh, you were the girl doing cartwheels earlier, right?” some handsome guy asked, taking off his sunglasses to look me in the eye.
Yes, yes I was the thirty-year-old woman in a red g-string bikini doing gymnastics on the beach. What can I say? I’m old enough to know what not to do, and young enough to get away with it. I closed my journal and gave him a once over. Fit! This could be fun, I thought. So, even though I’d planned for my soul-o™ beach day to be about healing my inner child (per my therapist) and getting sexy tan lines (per my OnlyFans), I decided to go off script and indulge with Matt*.
We vibed right away—flirting about psychedelics and love languages—and exchanged socials before going our separate ways. A few hours later, Matt messaged me on X (the app not the drug—but, like…really, Elon?), showing me a present he had for me: a black Vixen thong bikini. He told me he loved buying merch from sex work companies and I couldn’t help but giggle—he had no idea he was talking to a freshly minted whore.
You see, my weekday beach vacay was made possible by my very lucrative, somewhat-newish career as a certified courtesan in a legal Nevada brothel. Thanks to the six figures I was making in a matter of months there, I could now do whatever the fuck I wanted seven days a week back in L.A. So when I woke up to another sunny forecast the following day, my only thoughts were: If mama wants to do absolutely nothing on the beach again, mama can.
Just then Matt messaged me: “You know what would go good with that bikini I got you? A fresh pedicure, my treat. Say, this afternoon?”
This is how I deserve to be treated! I thought, realizing that my practice receiving money, love, and adoration at the brothel was starting to pay off in my “regular” life as a Goddess about to be spoiled.
When I walked up to the salon, I saw Matt dressed head to toe in white—I’m talkin’ all white everything. As I went in to hug him, I had a brief moment of: This guy looks so clean—is he too clean? Like, psycho-clean? But my worry evaporated when he covered the microphone on his headphones and leaned towards me to say, “Everything’s paid for, I’m just stuck on a work call. Enjoy, Goddess.”
So enjoy I did. Once my toes were all dolled up and lacquered in black, I changed into my present and we headed back to the ocean.
“You said you like supporting sex work brands—can you elaborate?” I asked as he laid down some towels for us.
“Yeah! I used to date a girl who did porn—I really loved it.”
“What? That’s amazing! So, I gotta ask,” I leaned in closer for privacy, “You’re a cuck, right? You’re, like, into hotwife?”
In my experience, a cuck who’s into “hotwife” enjoys spoiling, pampering, and dressing up his “wife” (all of which Matt had just done for me), then escorting her to her dates with other men and watching while she gets thoroughly fucked (none of which Matt had done for me, but the day was still young). Sometimes a cuck also enjoys being sloppy seconds to the “superior” men (aka anyone besides him) who just banged his perfect girl. A lovely dynamic to play with, IMO.
“Oh yeah—I’m super into it,” he answered.
“OMG me too! So was that just an absolute dream for you—dating a porn star?”
“I loved it. Sometimes I’d pick her up after she filmed a group scene—”
“Ugh, like multiple-creampie gang-bangs?!” I interrupted. “That’s my favorite porn!”
“Haha, yep. She would be unshowered and I’d pick her up and take her home, and then I’d go down on her while she described the day of filming to me. She’d tell me about each cock that was in her and how good it felt. And then we would have crazy sex—like, super, super intense sex.”
And with that, my now-throbbing pussy gave my new bikini bottoms their first dip.
“That sounds fucking perfect,” I said, then flipped onto my belly and into brat mode: “So, why don’t you oil me up with your sunscreen and make yourself actually useful?”
The sun warmed my back as Matt poured a line of lotion down it. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, zeroing in on his touch. His movement was smooth and his hands knew exactly where to go. You know that spot under your butt cheeks where your thighs end and your ass begins? He pressed his fingers right into that little divot, making me squirm without technically crossing any boundaries, then made his way around all 5’9” of me, massaging in the sunscreen and teasing me as he went.
I was feeling comfortable and carefree, so I opened up and told Matt about my work at the brothel. He was not only supportive, but instantly obsessed with the idea that I could be his perfect Hotwife Whore.
“So, have you heard of a chastity cage?” he whispered to me as we basked.
(Hi, quick aside for the uninitiated: A chastity cage is a device worn by a submissive during Dom/sub play that locks up the penis until a Dominant partner frees them with a key. The more ya know!)
“Oh my gosh, yes! But I’ve never gotten to play with one. Wait—do you have one?!”
“Yeah. Would you wanna see it?”
“UM, YES PLEASE!”
He turned his phone towards me so I could see a photo of him caged. It was incredible: His cock was engorged, the skin of his shaft red from pressing hard against the dark metal bars of his cage. It looked painfully constricting yet totally arousing—exactly the point, I’m sure.
We continued getting to know each other and, in between adjusting his boner in his swim trunks, Matt mentioned how much he loved worshiping the female form through massage.
“Well I think we’re both pretty obviously aroused,” I said. “Do you wanna take me to yours for a proper rub down now?”
On the way to his place, I checked between my thighs, curious just how physically turned on I was from our conversation. I pulled my hand up and smiled, my fingers covered in webby wetness.
“So,” I said when we arrived, “You will not be getting your mouth anywhere near me today—this is hands only. And! Your hands will not be exploring anywhere near my pussy. You can massage my ass and body, and that’s it. And obviously you’ll be caged the entire time. Oh! And I might pleasure myself if I feel like it, but if I do, that’s just for me, by me—you are not involved. Sound good?”
He had been listening intently and responded with a solid, “Yes.”
“Okay, now go shower. You disgust me.”
Five minutes later, he came out clean and damp, with his six-pack abs and about-to-be-caged cock. From his walk-in closet he grabbed a black box, setting it on the dresser. He took out two metal grate halves, a U-shaped thingy, and a small lock and key. I watched as he worked—completely enraptured by his cock being captured.
He was already fully erect, making it a struggle to put on the device. He held his breath as he cupped the U-shaped thingy under his balls, inserted it into the caging, and squeezed everything inside, just barely closing it at the top. As soon as he finally managed to snap the lock into place, I reached my hand out towards him as if to say, “Key. Now.”
Without words, this as-of-yesterday-total-stranger put the key to his chastity cage in my hand, and just like that I became the most powerful Goddess in the universe.
“Ha, you’re pathetic,” I said, closing my palm around the key. “Start with my back. I like deep pressure, and I like your weight on me, so really sit,” I commanded. (I love some resistance for my horny hips to writhe against.)
As he started massaging my back, I reached my free hand between my thighs and circled my clit—obviously joking earlier when I’d said I “might” touch myself. I hiked my ass up in the air, showing off for Matt, and heard him grunt involuntarily.
“That…pressure…is…good,” I moaned. “Now let me feel that cage against my ass.”
He obeyed, pushing the hard, cold metal into my cheeks. With the key in my hand and the cage on my ass, I was now a perfect conduit for my own pleasure. And Matt was feeling good, too. When I looked over my shoulder, I saw a long drip of pre-cum spilling through his metal grates. It almost sent me.
“I’m so close,” I muffled into the mattress.
And then I tapped into him—imagining the view he was seeing of me from behind while not being able to “do anything” about it. I pictured being him—staring into my spread pussy and asshole, off-limits to touch—and hiked my ass up even higher, fully on display as his eyes drilled deeper and deeper into me until at last:
“I’M COMING!” I shouted into his bed, screaming nonsense as my climax peaked. Somehow my O felt internal even though the only thing he’d penetrated me with was his gaze. I rode the aftershocks down quietly, my body twitching with pleasure. And as soon as I came to…
“Okay, I’m gonna go home and eat—I’m hungry,” I said abruptly like a brat (because I knew he’d want nothing less).
He smiled as I started putting my clothes back on. There was zero obligation to please him—in fact, there was an objective to leave him hanging—and that felt absolutely luxurious to me.
“Once I’m gone, I want you to touch yourself and replay my orgasm in your mind,” I instructed. “And when you come, I want you to dedicate every drop to your Goddess.”
Matt agreed enthusiastically and I knew it was time to set him free. I inserted the key into his lock, turned it, and watched as he sprang out like a damn snake-in-a-can. So fucking satisfying. I grabbed the last of my things and said goodbye—not just to Matt, but to my days of naivety, for I knew I’d never again be in public without wondering who might be hiding a secret sex cage just beneath their clothes.
*Name has been changed.
GG Sauvage is a writer and all-around artist on a mission to f*ck shame away and empower people with self-love. She designed The Sexiest Deck Alive: Erotic Oracle Cards to Turn You On & Help You Turn the Corner, co-hosts the Basic Witches podcast, and wrote the audio drama Sex and the Synchronicity. See her work at Refinery29, Vogue Italia, Vulture, CollegeHumor, and WhoHaHa, and check out her website for more!